


just ask

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Possessive Behavior, Relationship Negotiation, That One Interview
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 06:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16759756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: “They asked me, today, in an interview with Sid right next to me, about that thing I said last year. About leaving the Penguins, being a big star somewhere else.”“And you’re, what? Afraid he’s going to be angry with you?”Zhenya squirms. He feels hot and prickly, his emotions a soupy mess he can’t grasp in order to make sense of.“I think… I think I’m afraid he won’t be.”





	just ask

[ The White Shirt Interview](https://queen-alia.tumblr.com/post/179738191547/queen-alia-the-white-shirt-interview)

He knows they’re going to be having a Conversation, capital “C,” when they’re back at the hotel. Sid is masterfully in control of himself in public, always, but Zhenya had seen the flash of surprised hurt in his eyes, behind the indulgent smile and the faux-casual swat to the arm. **  
**

He’s the first one back at the hotel, and he has time to stew a little. He knows Sid. He’s going to feel hurt for a little bit, and then the too-nice, too-rational little gears are going to start turning in his overthinking head.

Zhenya always imagines them painted red, with little maple leaves embossed on them.

By the time Sid gets back he’s probably going to have come up with some kind of martyr-like bullshit about how he can see how Zhenya might feel held back by him and does Zhenya want out of his contract, and blah blah blah. Zhenya can feel his blood pressure go up just imagining it. Sid doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body. It’s absurd.

Zhenya is a mercurial man, he knows himself well enough to own to that. He can be passionate and possessive. He knows Sid isn’t like that. But sometimes.

Sometimes he wishes, just for a moment, that Sid was the kind to be possessive.

The temptation is there to say something rash, to jut his chin out and say that yes, he could go anywhere and be the face of a franchise, a star, someone who wouldn’t always be an afterthought, skimmed over for any fucking best 100 list. Just to see what Sid would say. Just to get him angry, light a fire in his eyes, make him _prove_ that Zhenya is his and–

But Zhenya will do no such thing. Sid would take it at face value. He’d be so, so hurt by it, but he’d cover it with a bland veneer of acceptance, of reasonableness. Of wanting what was best for Zhenya, of letting Zhenya do whatever he pleases.

Sometimes, Zhenya needs someone to tell him no.

He gets so worked up that he Skypes his mother. Five pm is seven am in Magnitogorsk, so he gets her in her bathrobe, looking grumpy over a mug of strong tea.

“What _is_ it, Zhenechka,” she says, already sounding exasperated with him. “I haven’t even gotten breakfast ready yet.”

“They asked me, today, in an interview with Sid right next to me, about that thing I said last year. About leaving the Penguins, being a big star somewhere else.”

“Ah.” His mother takes a noisy sip of tea. “And?”

“It shocked him, I think. And then we had media the rest of the day. He’s still in meetings now, we haven’t spoken yet.”

“And you’re, what? Afraid he’s going to be angry with you?”

Zhenya squirms. He feels hot and prickly, his emotions a soupy mess he can’t grasp in order to make sense of.

“I think… I think I’m afraid he won’t be.”

His mother gives him a long, unimpressed look, then sighs. “I’m getting your father. This is a conversation for him, not for me. You two can be unreasonable and have too many feelings together, I need more tea.”

Zhenya’s father is more sympathetic. “Love is hard, son. And it doesn’t always make sense. Talk to him when he gets back. Maybe a present? Roses or some good wine, _show_ him that you love him, yes? What is that American expression you told me about? Ah. ‘Go big or go home’ right?”

Zhenya considers himself fairly amazing at the big gestures, but he’s not sure it would be a good idea this time.

He and his father are still talking when the lock on the hotel room door beeps as Sid slides his keycard in. And there he is, looking pinched and tired around the eyes, undoing the cuffs on his shirt and turning to set his wallet, watch, and phone on the dresser. Zhenya only takes the smallest moment to appreciate the way his ass and thighs strain the seams of his dress pants.

“I’ve got to go, Papa,” Zhenya tells his father. “He’s back.” His father winks at him and gives him a thumbs up.

“Was that your parents?” Sid says, still with his back to where Zhenya is sitting propped up in bed. Zhenya can see his face, though. There’s a huge mirror behind the dresser. His expression is as still and calm as an iced-over pond.

“Yes, little early, but. Want to talk to them.” Zhenya fidgets with the edge of the puffy white duvet. It’s goose down, he thinks. Light and soft. Earlier he’d wanted to pick a fight but now he he’s changed his mind. He thinks he wants to bury himself in the blankets. Hibernate, the the bear he’s always compared to.

Sid is on to unbuttoning his shirt, now, a kind of ruthless precision to his movements. He slides it off and takes it over to hang neatly in the closet, picking up Zhenya’s on the way from where he’d left it crumpled on the floor.

There’s a strange tension in the room as Sid slides his belt out of his pants, coils it, and stows it in a pocket of his garment bag. Next go the pants themselves, then the socks (surprisingly colorful, as most of his socks are), then his undershirt. All get folded and put away. Sid isn’t always this neat. This feels ominous.

He’s still not looking at Zhenya. He stands there in his black boxer briefs, facing the closet, shoulders looking stiff and tight even from across the room. Zhenya knows his body, knows what he movements and the way he carries himself mean.

He’d wanted a fight, but now he’s terrified.

“Did you eat?” Sid asks him, even and bland.

“No,” Zhenya says, and is hit with a sudden bolt of clarity. Surety. That’s what he’s after. That’s why he, perversely, wants Sid to be angry with him for leaving.

Sid is so intensely private. Their entire relationship, from its inception, has been clandestine and discreet. Neither one of those things come naturally to Zhenya. In anything, least of all love. He’s all unsubtle PDA, grand gestures, and ostentatious gift-giving. Or he had been, with the women he’d been with before he and Sid caved to years of pent up attraction and fell into bed together.

He hadn’t realized it had been bothering him this much until now. Sid is always in such consummate control of himself. Zhenya is frustrated, he realizes, with staying hidden, and not being completely sure what Sid wants out of their relationship. Their love languages are so different.

“If you ask me if I’m mean it, I’m _scream_ ,” he blurts. “Think about is not do, is not want. Is just think about.”

Sid still won’t fucking look at him. He just stands there, room service menu dangling loosely from his hand, face like a mask.

“Sid,” Zhenya says again, insistent, panic rising in his throat.

“I always thought,” Sid says slowly. “That things were fine. That I knew you and what you wanted. I guess didn’t know anything.”

“Sid,” Zhenya growls, and throws off the duvet, swinging his feet to the floor. “You not _listening_ to me.”

“Mostly I didn’t know _myself_. It’s freaking me out. All day, all I could think about was…”

“What, Sid?” Zhenya pleads. “Just say.”

Sid looks up then, eyes dark, expression fierce. “It’s _ugly_ , Geno. It’s really ugly.”

“Tell me,” Zhenya breathes. “Don’t care.”

Sid takes a deep breath. “Telling you that no fucking way was I letting you leave. Marking you up. Shouting from the fucking rooftops that you’re _mine_.” He nearly hisses the last word through his clenched teeth.

Zhenya feels relief flood him, cool as water. He wants to lie back and _let_ him.

But Sid’s not done talking. “But, that’s just fucked up, you’re your own person and you shouldn’t–”

“Sid!” Zhenya barks, sharp enough that Sid stops talking. His breath is coming fast and shallow. “Look at me Sid. Fucking look, okay?”

Sid does. Zhenya watches him register the flush of Zhenya’s face and chest, the heaving of his chest. Zhenya tries to gentle his voice, but it still shakes. “Want you to, Sid. So tired of be so quiet always.” It’s not quite the right phrasing but close enough. “You tell me, I belong to you.”

Sid looks so lost. “You belong to yourself, Geno.”

Zhenya feels hot tears prick at his eyes. “Want to know I belong to you, Sid.”

Sid stares at him like he’s never seen him before, for a long, long moment. “Oh,” he finally breathes. “Oh.” He moves forward, takes Zhenya’s face in his hands, and tilts it to so Zhenya’s looking up at him. “Tell me what you want, G.”

“I want you fight for me,” Zhenya says, hating the wobble in his voice. “Not just say, ‘oh is okay, you go somewhere else, is no problem.’”

“Geno,” Sid rasps. “Losing you would _destroy_ me, you _have_ to know that.”

“Would?” Zhenya says, small and uncertain. Sid’s face crumples in dismay.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes. “You didn’t _know_. How could you not know? I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Zhenya buries his face in Sid’s abdomen, and clutches at him as he winds an arm around Zhenya’s shoulders and pulls him in.

“You’re _everything_ , baby,” Sid says thickly.

Zhenya shudders. Sid has never called him “baby” before.

“I’d let you go if you really wanted it, or I’d buy you a ring tomorrow if you really wanted it. Part of me is always scared that–” his voice cracks. “That you’ll decide you want to go. Back home, back somewhere they speak your own language. Back to a woman who could give you babies– I was always kind of bracing for it.”

“Don’t. Want,” Zhenya growls. “Don’t want to go home, be lonely. Don’t want some woman. Just want you want me enough to make me stay.”

“Stay,” Sid says, and pushes him down onto the bed.

* * *

“Stay,” he says, and presses biting, sucking kisses to Zhenya’s lips and neck and chest. Zhenya’s going to bloom with bruises by morning.

* * *

“Stay,” he begs as he fucks him, taking Zhenya apart, shattering him against the tangled white sheets of their bed.

* * *

“Stay, Zhenya,” he whispers into Zhenya’s sweat-soaked hair after, as Zhenya rests his head over Sid’s racing heart, listening to it gradually slow.

“Long as you want,” he tells him back. “Long as you want.”

* * *

Zhenya dimly hears Sid leave the room early the next morning, but decides it’s probably an exra morning workout because Sid is Sid, and rolls over and goes back to sleep.

When he wakes up again, it’s because Sid slides back into bed with him, and his feet are cold.

“Wake up for a sec,” Sid whispers. “Please.” Zhenya obliges, turning around to face him and to complain about his icy feet against Zhenya’s shins.

Sid’s lying there staring at him, eyes wide and nervous. He extends a hand across the sheets between them.

“You said as long as I want. This is how long I want.”

It’s a small, velvet box. Zhenya sits bolt upright.

The ring inside is absolutely _gaudy_ , masculine but flashing with diamonds. It’s as far from Sid’s taste as it’s possible to get. It’s exactly Zhenya’s.

“Would have bought you one sooner,” Sid says, voice wet. “But was scared of the answer.”

Zhenya can only shake his head as he tries to slide it on to his finger. “Don’t have to be scared.” His hands are shaking and he nearly fumbles the ring into the bedding.

Sid leans over and helps him slide it on.

“There,” he says, sounding satisfied with himself. “Oh man, G—Zhenya, are you crying?”

“Not,” Zhenya lies, and pulls Sid into his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sidgeno Photo Challenge.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) . Come say hi!


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